Attack of the Germs or How Neal Discovers That 'Tiles of Fire' Wasn't
by Leesa Perrie
Summary: Coughs, SYFY movies and friendship


**Attack of the Germs**

**or How Neal Discovers That 'Tiles of Fire' Wasn't Such a Bad Movie After All**

**by leesa_perrie**

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A/N: For UK people - Tylenol is a well known US brand of what we call paracetamol and Americans call acetaminophen. Advil is a well known US brand of ibruprofen (which is called the same thing in both countries - as is aspirin).

Thank you to lj user="jayne_perry" and lj user="sholio" for the beta.

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Neal sat hunched up on his couch, swaddled in blankets and with a box of tissues and a trashcan to hand, blearily watching some cheap Syfy creature feature because using the remote to channel surf seemed like too much effort. Especially as it would mean moving his hand out of its nice warm cocoon, setting off a series of shivers again.

He didn't have a fever. He had a very slightly raised temperature (okay, maybe that was still a fever, technically, but it wasn't even a full degree above normal and 'slightly raised temperature' sounded less worrisome than 'fever'). He was just about warm enough now, but his body kept switching from too cold to too hot, back and forth, like someone flicking a switch on and off every few minutes. He wished it would stop.

The cough, that had developed into a persistent barking one, hurt his throat, chest and abdominal muscles and really wasn't fun. Even when he wasn't coughing - frequently, painfully - there was a constant tickle at the back of his throat that the cough medicine he'd taken only soothed for a few minutes. He'd have to wait at least three hours before he could take any more - assuming he could be bothered to fetch it, having left it on the counter all the way over in his kitchenette.

He should really take something to help with the temperature, but aspirin always upset his stomach - the thought of adding that to the mix of symptoms didn't appeal in the slightest - and the last time he'd take Tylenol (voluntarily, as opposed to being administered it in the prison infirmary), had been as a teenager. He'd had too much to drink the night before (he cringes now to think that one glass of wine and two dry martinis had given him a hangover, but he was only 14 at the time, having sneaked some drinks while over at a friend's father's birthday party). He'd taken the tablets in the morning and walked to another friend's house, having to cross two (mercifully) quiet side roads to get there. He didn't remember the journey at all.

No, Tylenol made him tired and muddled and somewhat zombie-like, and even if he had some to hand, he wasn't that desperate yet. Of course, to make things worse, he'd run out of Advil the day before. The local pharmacy, less than a block away, may as well be in Siberia as far as he was concerned.

A coughing fit doubled him over, coughing into a tissue which he then used to blow his nose and disposed off in the nearby trashcan. The blanket was pushed off (again), as his body decided it was no longer cold, but hot, hot, hot instead.

Neal sighed. He felt totally wretched.

The sharktopus was just attacking an unsuspecting boat (and really, he would be embarrassed to be caught watching this if he wasn't so ill. It almost made 'Tiles of Fire' seem good in comparison), when he heard a knock at his door.

"Neal?" Peter's voice sounded through the closed door.

Okay, make that _very _embarrassed to be caught watching this movie, as he quickly grabbed the remote and turned the TV off.

"It's unlocked," Neal croaked, which set off another coughing fit just as Peter entered the loft.

"That sounds bad," Peter said, staying close to the door. Neal didn't blame him for keeping his distance. Still, at least Peter was here. Mozzie had hightailed it out of there the moment he'd realised Neal was ill - checking up in text to see how he was faring, true, but staying far, far away from the 'germ monster' that Neal had apparently turned into. Maybe Syfy should make a movie about that, Neal though idly, before realising he hadn't answered Peter's comment.

"Yeah, it's not fun. You should probably steer clear."

"Hmmm. Actually, I'm here on the orders of my wife. Once she realised you were ill and that June was away, she insisted that I come and check up on you."

"That's... nice," Neal said warily, a strange warm feeling in his chest. "Well, duty done, you can tell her I'm alive."

"Yeah, I'd do that, but I'm also under orders to bring you back to our place if you look really ill. Which you do. So..."

"...you lie to Elizabeth and say I looked okay. Really, neither of you want to come down with this."

"What are a few germs between friends?" Peter said, heading into one of Neal's back rooms and emerging shortly with a gym bag.

"You won't be saying that next week when you feel like this," Neal muttered at Peter when he was back in the room, before coughing violently again.

Peter winced in sympathy.

"Look, with half of the department either having had it or currently suffering from it, I think it's safe to say I've already been exposed. And you were at our house the night before it hit you, so El's in the same boat too. Besides, we've been taking lots of Vitamin C and echinacea."

"You sound like Mozzie."

"No need to insult me," Peter replied, a smile tugging at the corners of his mouth.

"No, really, he swears by that echinacea stuff," Neal croaked. "He's probably been regaling Elizabeth with its wondrous properties."

"Hmmm," Peter said noncomittally.

"Look, I'm doing okay," Neal tried again. "Just tell Elizabeth I didn't look that bad."

"I'm not lying to my wife," Peter stated firmly, heading into Neal's bedroom with the gym bag.

"Don't I get a choice in this?" Neal whined.

"You want to get me into trouble with Elizabeth?" Peter countered. "How long do you think it'll be before she's here herself if I don't come back with you? An hour? Less? If you think you can say no to her when she's in full mothering mode, you're welcome to try."

Neal sighed, about to respond when he started coughing, yet _again,_ damn it. By the time it passed, he was exhausted and ready to give in to the inevitable. Elizabeth was a force to be reckoned with at times like this, and not one to take no for an answer. It _was_ kind of nice to have someone worry about him, but he'd have preferred to have been left alone (or so he tried to convince himself, ignoring the part of him that was desperately missing human company after two days of fighting this thing on his own).

So, an hour later, Neal was ensconced in the guest bedroom - after taking Advil and eating some soup (chicken, of course) - with Satchmo keeping him company. He drifted slightly, listening to the sounds of the Burkes moving about downstairs, doing whatever they did on a Saturday afternoon, and he thought that maybe it wasn't so bad to be here after all.

It certainly beat watching terrible movies, he thought as he drifted off, to dreams of a mega-germ monster attacking an unsuspecting boat.

The End

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A/N: Although I'm not as bad with paracetamol (Tylenol in the US) as I used to be, the story of 14 year old Neal is pretty much my story (also aged 14), and I try to avoid taking it unless really desperate. And yes, aspirin and me also don't get on too well either. The cold mentioned in this fic is similar to one I was suffering when I wrote the draft version, though a little exaggerated in places. I guess experience was the kick I needed to finally write a sick!Neal fic!

Oh, and Sharktopus is a real movie that I haven't watched, but have (unfortunately) seen clips from!


End file.
